


plus one

by sevenfoxes



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF
Genre: Drunk Dialing, F/M, Weddings, a lot of weed and booze, sex in inappropriate places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfoxes/pseuds/sevenfoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenny yanks at the bra that is cutting into her side; it’s been a while since she’s wanted to impress a boy with her underwear, and while she kind of enjoys the look Chris gets on his face when she peels off her shirt to a bra decidedly fancier than the boring white underwire she normally rocks, she has not fucking missed the itchiness of lace.  There is a decided correlation between the attractiveness of tittyholders and the discomfort of them, because she’s never met an attractive bra that didn’t make her regret her life.</p><p>This one is red and strapless and goes with the cute little gown she’s reusing from her premiere before she gives it back to the designer.  Because no way in fuck can she afford a two thousand dollar dress on her current salary, and there was nothing in the back of her closet that felt right after Chris had looked up from between her legs a week ago and said, <em>Shit, Danny’s wedding is next week.  You up for being my plus one?</em></p><p>(Another first for her: getting a plus one invitation less than three months into a relationship… and having it come in the middle of a dude going down on her.  She’s enjoying how her relationship with Chris is making her grow <em>as a person</em>, you know?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	plus one

**Author's Note:**

> SO. This was supposed to be 1K and rated T. So much for those plans.
> 
> This exists because of that photo of Chris at a wedding over the weekend and a conversation with KatStratford about how the two of them would be the BEST wedding guests ever. This was basically supposed to be a fic about all the weird fucking shenanigans the two of them would get up to at weddings and turned into... this.
> 
> There's a lot of drinking and smoking weed in this fic, so if that bothers you, I'd skip it. Oh, and sex.
> 
> I would also like to state for the record that vegan cake can be super yummy.

 

 

Jenny yanks at the bra that is cutting into her side; it’s been a while since she’s wanted to impress a boy with her underwear, and while she kind of enjoys the look Chris gets on his face when she peels off her shirt to a bra decidedly fancier than the boring white underwire she normally rocks, she has not fucking missed the itchiness of lace. There is a decided correlation between the attractiveness of tittyholders and the discomfort of them, because she’s never met an attractive bra that didn’t make her regret her life.

This one is red and strapless and goes with the cute little gown she’s reusing from her premiere before she gives it back to the designer. Because no way in fuck can she afford a two thousand dollar dress on her current salary, and there was nothing in the back of her closet that felt right after Chris had looked up from between her legs a week ago and said, _Shit, Danny’s wedding is next week. You up for being my plus one?_

(Another first for her: getting a plus one invitation less than three months into a relationship… and having it come in the middle of a dude going down on her. She’s enjoying how her relationship with Chris is making her grow _as a person_ , you know?)

She pokes at the underwire again and lets out a sigh at the momentary relief.

“You okay there?” Chris asks, looking over at her when they stop for a red light. He’s got an amused look on his face, but he looks like that a lot around her she’s found. At first, it felt like he was mocking her a bit, but now… now it makes her feel all warm and sappy inside. Now that she gets that it’s not mocking. Not it at _all_.

She grabs her boobs, lifting them until the ache subsides, and seriously considers peeling the thing off and going bra-less. But this is the first time she’s going to be meeting most of Chris’s extended family, so best not to scare them all off on the first day.

“I hope you appreciate my bras because they are the fucking _worst_ ,” Jenny moans, leaning her head back and whinging into the roof of his car.

Chris laughs, but his eyes are dark. “Oh, I do.”

 

\--

 

There’s a certain age you reach when everyone you fucking know starts getting married. For Jenny, it’s been a two wave experience. Most of the friends she made in Milton got married _young_. Like barely-waited-until-they-graduated-university young. There were a lot of high school sweethearts who used college like a litmus test, and so the summer and fall of ‘04 had been a fucking neverending stream of weddings.

Jenny had left Columbia boyfriendless and very, _very_ in debt. Which meant super cheap gifts and the same goddamn dress at every single one of them. 

(Given half the marriages she went to in ‘04 ended in divorce a couple years later, she doesn’t stress about the shitty the-thought’s-what-counts gifts she got them. At least now she doesn’t have to worry that one of the douche spouses got the blender or whatever she would have splurged on.)

The friends she made in New York were different. In the years since Columbia, she’s been to a couple weddings, but they’ve been spread out. Her group is pretty evenly split between the long term common law group who abhor the idea of the institution of marriage and the perpetually single group that have a lot of sex and always let Jenny crash on their couch when she visits from LA.

She had been one of the first in her group of New York friends to tie the knot. (But she tries not to think about that too much. It was good while it lasted, and it hurt when it ended.) Now that everyone’s hitting their mid-thirties, the singletons are finally settling down and the marriage-haters are finally caving to their New England parents, so she’s getting way more invitations in the mail than she used to.

(Plus, the Milton friends are hitting marriage-number-two age, so there’s that.)

For Chris, it’s a bit different. Most of Chris’s friends are already married with the large majority popping out kids already. He’s got a small group of single friends, but most are LA based. Shockingly, it’s more family getting married than friends, and Chris has a fuckload of cousins, like any good Boston boy.

(Even though Sudbury is _not_ Boston, no matter what Chris tries to argue is true.)

So basically: it’s fucking wedding season.

 

\--

 

Jenny manages to make a respectable show of it at Danny’s wedding (she and Chris got a little drunk, but she managed to keep her mouth in check), so Chris wheedles her into attending his aunt Cathy’s commitment ceremony a few weeks later. He doesn’t ask her while he’s going down on her this time, but he does have his hand working lazily between her legs as they sit on the couch watching a golf game that is so boring she’s partially nodding off before he decides to flop his hand over the crotch of her cotton shorts and make things interesting.

“Listen,” Jenny says, trying to keep her voice level as he slips his hand under the thicker material of her shorts to rub right over her panties, “is this payment for future services or something? Because I don’t want to dissuade you from the idea that orgasms will get me to do what you want - because they will - but if you keep this up I’m going to start having _expectations_.”

Chris laughs and drags his fingers in a circle over her clit.

“God this is so much better than golf,” Jenny says with a moan.

Which is how she ends up at yet another Evans family gathering. It’s sweet that a couple people remember her from Danny’s wedding and make an effort to speak to her given the rest of the time is spent watching Chris get punches to the arm and loud boisterous hugs followed by hours of inside jokes and family small talk. It feels like she’s not entirely a stranger, and given her reaction to social anxiety is to run her mouth endlessly, it’s a fucking blessing that his family is so easygoing and welcoming. She really likes his them; they’re loud and brash and show their affection by teasing and fighting in turn. Basically, they’re pretty much her family, but with more alcohol and bacon. 

Later, after she’s put down two slices of cake and is eyeing the half-slice he hasn’t eaten, he reaches over and tugs her chair a little closer to his, letting his hand drape over her bare thigh. They’re both a little tipsy, but not drunk, and his touch is more sweet than provocative.

“You don’t even understand,” Chris says with a sigh, rubbing his thumb over her knee in a repetitive motion that’s really getting her motor going. “I love seeing my family - especially the extended fam - but sometimes these things are like pulling fucking teeth.” 

Jenny gets it; it had only taken one offhand comment about when Chris was going to settle down from one of his aunts to see the tension ratchet up in his shoulders, even though he tried to play it off with a lot of sweet smiles and laughing. Somehow, she imagines it’s a hell of a lot worse when there isn’t a girl around to keep his family’s questions at bay. There’d been a lot of that subtle-like-a-jackhammer-to-the-face shit back when her older sister got married and she had been single, so she really does get it. People know better than to be assholes about it, but when it’s something you’re a little sensitive on, even the most carefully worded inquiries are grating.

“They can get really tedious, especially with certain people in attendance,” he explains. “You just… make them fun. _Better_ , you know? It’s nice to have someone to share this with.”

It’s probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to her. He rolls his eyes and shoves his half-slice of cake at her when she says as much.

Then they get all-the-way drunk and make out in the taxi back to his mom’s place. It’s a pretty good night.

 

\--

 

The first time Jenny asks Chris to be her plus one, his reaction leaves her less than impressed.

“What?” she snaps, keeping her voice light and trying not to be offended by the look of fear plastered all over his face. It doesn’t make a fuck of a lot of sense given how open and demonstrative Chris has been about their relationship over the past few months, but it’s not the first time that a guy has gone off her abruptly, which makes her feel like shit when she thinks about it. “You don’t want to be seen with me?”

And that’s totally, _totally_ unfair, and she knows it, because this was the guy that went public with her at her premiere and has basically introduced her to his entire fucking family at this point. But she has a terrible tendency to make biting jokes about the things she’s upset about, and to speak before she thinks.

His eyes go wide at her accusation. Then, some unnameable emotion that looks like something caught between anger and hurt floats over his face. “ _What_?”

She sighs; time to put on her big girl panties and own up to her childishness. “Nevermind. Sorry, that was shitty and I’m a butt.” She laughs quietly to break the tension. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to, but like, could you explain the face to me? Because you looked like I was asking you to put your hand in a garbage disposal for a second there.”

There’s a look of recognition on his face, finally, and he shakes his head vigorously, clearly horrified. “Jesus, Jenny. Of course it’s not that.” He grips her elbow for a second and gives it a light squeeze before running his hand down her forearm to lace his fingers with hers. “You know I’ll go with you, no problem.”

“But?”

“But nothing.”

“The face, Chris.”

His mouth is screwed up tight in the way it typically is when he’s embarrassed. “Nothing big or important. It’s just that they’re your New York friends.”

“So?” She knows he likes New York. They’ve been to New York together a couple times.

“So… they’re your college friends.”

Ah. This pacadillo.

“Dude,” Jenny says, “I spent most of my time doing improv and faking interest in Lord Byron’s poncy bullshit. All of my friends from Columbia are improv nerds who like fart jokes and smoke up more than I do.” She shakes her head, reminding herself what a fucking insecure nerd Chris is. “Basically, they’re your people.”

Chris looks unconvinced, and it kills her that he’s so insecure over something so insignificant. And that someone so fucking successful is somehow cowtowed by her college friends, many of whom haven’t seen most of his movies, but thinks he’s a giant scoop of hot shit. (As Kevin put it in the text he sent her the night after the premiere Chris had attended with her: _WHAT ANIMAL DID YOU SACRIFICE TO THE GODS TO GET TO TAP THAT ASS, J?_ followed by a half a million devil faces and thumbs up emjois.)

Yeah, he didn’t go to college like she did, but he’s one of the most well-read, articulate people she knows. If one thing going Ivy League has taught her, it’s that there are some really fucking stupid people who not only matriculate, but graduate.

And, as she’d like to point out, she’d never hang with assholes that would judge someone for not shelling out two hundred and fifty grand for a degree. 

“Listen, they’re going to love you. Despite your weird perception of the value of degrees to gen x drama nerds, you’re just as smart as they are. Do you think I’d suck your dick if you _weren’t_ smart?” She snorts. “No. I have standards. Pure smart dick diet, buddy.”

Chris closes his eyes, his face finally breaking into a smile. “Oh my god.”

“Your jizz is like, _brilliant._ ”

He lets out a choking noise and shoves his hand over her mouth. “Stop!”

“MENSA JIZZ, CHRIS!” she yells, muffled by his hand.

In the end, he buys the most expensive gift off Farah’s registry, accompanies her to the wedding, dances with a couple of her friends she pawns him off on, and then spends rest of the evening talking about space shit with Farah’s brother who works as a flight technician with NASA. 

Basically, all her friends fucking love him. Big shocker there.

 

\--

 

“Jenny?”

“I am soooooooooo high right now, man.”

“Aren’t you at your friend’s wedding?”

“Yeahhhhhhhhh.”

“You should probably eat something, babe? Did you eat anything?”

“Nooooooooo. Sherizad is on the whole raw vegan kick, so the food here is either a vegetable or looks like some kind of paste that has been vomited up by birds. I love her, but I need to limit my vegan weddings. I love food too much and when I’m apart from it, I fill the void.”

“With weed.”

“Yep. Or dick. But you had to have _meetings_ in LA, so I filled the void with what I had.”

“She’ll have cake, though. You love cake.”

“It’s vegan cake, Chris. It looks like a sad, multi-layered pancake. Kevin, that beautiful fucker, had a twix in his car. If he wasn’t gay, you’d be in trouble, because the love I have for him right now is _real_ , you know?”

“Well, I’ll consider myself warned.”

“I think he kind of wants to bone you, though. Don’t tell him I told you that, I think it’s a secret.”

“He wouldn’t stop staring at my ass, Jen. Not a secret. And not that I don’t appreciate the call, but is there a reason you decided to call me high from your friend’s wedding besides describing how you’re filling your voids?”

“...”

“Jenny?”

“Man, squirrels are so fucking arrogant. I hate them, you know? They just think they’re _sooooo_ fucking great.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Nothing. Wanna fill my void?”

“Oh god. Jenny, I’m in LA.”

“Duh. You know what I mean.”

“Aren’t you at a _wedding?_ ”

“Sherizad is a total hippy, so we’re in a big tent in the middle of some fucking field surrounded by a forest. I told them I was gonna go pee behind a tree, so here we are. Now, what are you wearing?”

“Pee behind a tree.”

“Listen, the outhouses are disgusting and like… I’m being one with nature, okay? Peeing outdoors is freeing. Ooh, are you wearing that Red Sox t-shirt with holes in the pits?”

“Well, I’m in the mood now.”

“Don’t even give me that shit, Evans. You’re into it.”

“Yeah.”

 

\--

 

Someone gets a photo of them dancing at Louise’s wedding and it’s _all over_ the fucking internet in less than a day. His PR manager calls him early the next morning and Jenny shoves her pillow over her head and whines dramatically as Chris engages in what is a far too serious conversation for the morning after a spectacular night of Evans debauchery. Her hangover has a hangover right now.

After meeting his family, she suddenly understands where Chris gets his alcohol tolerance from. His family - particularly his mother’s side - knows how to drink like it’s an olympic sport. She isn’t quite sure if her liver can take it. But really? She’s ready to die trying.

“I know, I know!” Chris finally snaps into the phone, and Jenny shuts up really quickly, sensing Chris’s growing irritation.

Jenny can’t figure out what the big deal is until she checks her phone as he’s making breakfast and finds that Amy has texted her the photo in question with the words **GET. IT.** written underneath.

“Whoa,” Jenny says, her eyes going wide. She flips her phone around so Chris can see the photo, then brings it back up to her face so she can see it without her contacts.

Chris actually looks a little embarrassed as he reaches in the fridge for the cream cheese. “Yeah.”

Jenny laughs, and looks back at the photo. You can’t see her face at all in the shot, but you can see Chris’s over her shoulder thanks to their height difference. He’s got the glazed happy expression he normally has after a night of drinking, but it takes on an extra edge when you consider the fact that you can plainly see one of his hands up the back of her skirt, grabbing a handful of her ass as they sway on the dancefloor surrounded by a few other couples. Her ass isn’t visible, thank god, but the way his arm drags up the hem of her floaty skirt makes it a very close thing.

She’s not particularly prudish, but it’s a pretty scandalous shot for a wedding. She knows Chris’s embarrassment is more about the exposure of his private life. Since the quiet announcement at the premiere, they’ve both been pretty quiet about their relationship, particularly Chris. Exhibitionism is pretty much at the bottom of his list of enjoyable kinks, so she knows he isn’t thrilled by this.

“Jesus, Chris,” Jenny says, not really complaining. “Your _mother_ was there. And half of your family.” Then, upon further reflection, she adds, “Why the fuck can’t I remember this?”

She’s not really sure if she wants to remember it or not. On one hand: Chris groping her ass is always the highlight of her night. On the other? _His mother was fucking there_. His mother is pretty cool and laid back about most things - Jenny and Chris share a room when they stay over at the house - but Jenny doesn’t want her watching her son stick his hand up Jenny’s skirt.

(Otherwise, she’s pretty okay with Chris shoving his hand up her skirt.)

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly, squinting a bit. “It was after the jello shots. I don’t remember much of it either.”

(Yeah, jello shots. Louise’s wedding was a bit… low-key, to say the least.)

She takes a bite of his bagel as he grouses and shoves another one in the toaster, clearly surrendering the one he had made for himself to her even though she had said no to his offer to make her one. “You know you really can’t complain about the ass man headlines when you won’t stop talking about them or, you know, _grabbing_ them.”

Then Jenny leans over and slaps Chris’s ass so hard he yelps.

 

\--

 

One of the reasons Ksenija is one of Jenny’s closest friends is because she is one of the coolest fucking people on the entire planet. And, of course, she throws the coolest fucking wedding of all time. Jenny’s never been one for weddings - she wasn’t even all that fond of her own - but if she were to ever indulge in another, she’d want it just like Ksenija’s.

Jenny’s known her since they were both eight and running around the neighbourhood with skinned knees and ratted hair, so when Ksenija finally gets married to the man she’s been with since her first year at BU, Jenny naturally agrees to be her maid of honour.

The wedding itself is held in an old brewery in Jamaica Plains that has been renovated into a gorgeous event venue that has stained hardwood floors, two story high ceilings, and gigantic floor-to-ceiling windows that makes the entire space feel warm and welcoming. There’s a lot of weird art deco beer bottle sculptures and restored metal signs from the turn of the 20th century, so the place has a real hipster vibe to it that doesn’t feel stupid the way Jenny finds most hipster shit to be.

It’s a small wedding relative to Boston standards, so there’s only a couple dozen people at the dinner and party afterwards. Chris looks oddly comfortable given he knows almost no one, which is fucking _great_ because Jenny knows almost everyone and spends most of the evening hugging and yapping with people she hasn’t seen in ages. Chris hovers quietly beside her with a beer, making small talk with the people brave enough to pretend not to care who he is. She loves how comfortable he is with her friends now, and she knows that it’s thanks in large part to it being in Boston. All of the weird shit that seems to matter to him in New York or LA disappears when they touch down at Logan.

Ksenija and Johnny splurge on a photobooth complete with _ridiculous_ props and costume that Jenny spends most of her time goofing off in with old high school buddies. She pulls Chris in for a couple of them, which is awesome, because if there’s one thing he’s fucking great at, it’s mugging for the camera. He has no shame, and it’s the _best_.

(Those, of course, make it onto the internet thanks to the cloud service provided by the photobooth company. Whatever. Chris can rock a pink boa with the best of them.)

The absolute best part of the evening though is watching Chris with Ksenija’s daughter. Rose, at four years old, is clearly head over heels for Chris, and spends most of the evening following him around. Shyly at first, then more boldly when Chris urges her to come over. He’s sweet and kind, and lets Rose climb into his lap and gibber at him for ages until it feels like Jenny’s face is going to split right open from smiling. Chris lets Rose drag him off to the dance floor, holding her arm so she can twirl over and over again to the Taylor Swift remix that the DJ is playing.

They don’t even make it out of the parking lot. Jenny fucks him hard in the backseat of his car, her bridesmaid’s dress rucked up her hips, her arms clinging desperately at his neck as he moans out that he loves her.

 

\--

 

They are just _stoned out of their mind_ for Geoffrey’s wedding. He was a well-loved stunt coordinator on the Captain America films and a couple of the stars including Sebastian and Mackie make it out to Napa Valley for the wedding. Sebastian brings the weed and Jenny should have known better than to have fucked with Seb’s shit; it takes exactly one joint to get her and Chris high as a kite. She suspects Seb is pretty baked, but he hides it way better than she and Chris can, clearly.

She doesn’t know where he gets his stuff, but it’s scary fucking strong. And this is coming from a girl who has done her fair share of weed. She’s got a tolerance like a water buffalo and even she’s down for the count by the time the party hits full swing.

Jenny really can’t remember much of anything other than eating like four slices of the raspberry and white chocolate wedding cake and throwing it up in the footwell of Chris’s Lexus when Mackie, the only sober of the four, drives the four of them home.

Whoops.

 

\--

 

They fuck at RDJ’s LA wedding.

Technically it’s some kind of vow renewal thing that Jenny doesn’t quite understand, but Chris had her at, _Listen, you’ve never seen real catering until you’ve seen Robert’s buffets_. The saying is the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach… well, the way to Jenny’s panties is through a buffet, and _goddamn_ , the Downeys know how to live.

(The Downeys. She knows the Downeys. She doesn't get starkstruck much; being in the business this long has taught her that most celebrities are assholes, and working on Saturday Night Live, even as briefly as she did, got her used to breaking famous faces down to their constituent parts so you could work with and bond with them over a week and not let it get _weird_. But like, _Robert Downey Jr_. _Soapdish_ and _The Pick-Up Artist_ had been staples of her childhood, so while she’s cool around him, her inner 12 year old is shrieking like a fucking maniac.)

So here she is, pressed up against the door in one of the fifty five bathrooms in Robert Downey Jr’s ridiculous fucking house with Chris’s fingers right up inside her.

He’d spent the majority of the ceremony touching her. A hand on her shoulder bare from the strapless dress, his fingers lingering on the short hem of the skirt, a kiss behind the ear at the table when they all sat to eat. And then he’d followed her when she had gotten up for seconds (god _bless_ that buffet) and tugged her from the palatial tent into the main house, down one of the neverending hallways until they reached an out of the way bathroom.

(Seriously, his house is fucking _huge_.)

“Shit,” Chris says, pulling his fingers out of her and pressing them into his mouth, sucking the slick off of them, which makes her thighs twitch like they’re being electrocuted. He’s got that look on his face like he really wants to eat her out (chewing on his lower lip, tongue zipping out to sooth the hurt, eyes lowered and lazy), but Jenny really hates standing up while someone goes down on her (a concussion and a well learned lesson), and she sure as hell isn’t getting down on the bathroom floor, no matter how clean it looks.

He kisses her and goddamn it, he tastes like her cunt. Which makes everything fucking frantic, because ugh, there’s just something about kissing him and tasting herself that makes the possessive part of her hindbrain roar to life.

It’s a dry event, so Jenny can’t even blame the bad decisionmaking on drunkenness, but it is making it easier to figure out the logistics of fucking. He could put her on the lip of the sink, but trying to balance on that is going to make her ass hurt like hell, and there’s something decidedly _not_ sexy about fucking on a toilet, so that’s out. She wouldn’t mind getting fucked up against the wall, but her dress is pretty delicate, so she’d rather not take that chance.

Chris is just looking more and more flustered, like the same scenarios are rolling through his mind too.

So Jenny makes the decision by pushing him back and leaning over the sink instead. She’s a bit indifferent to it from behind - although it feels fucking great at times, she likes being able to see his face - but she knows that Chris _loves it_ , so being able to see the completely _dumbstruck_ look on his face in the mirror when she wiggles her ass at him bent over like that is just fucking great. He looks like someone clocked him right in the face, and if she was wet before, she’s fucking soaked now.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he moans, reaching for her ass and dragging up the hem of her dress. He’s an ass guy, so he spend a few moments running his hands over hers before he slides her panties down and reaches between her legs, his thumb running over her cunt just the right side of rough. Goddamn, he’s an exceptional lay. “Jesus. Gonna make you feel so good.”

He always does, but it’s nice to hear. Jenny’s been pretty fortunate with the guys she’s fucked, but she’s never had a guy who’s been so unselfish in bed. Or in a bathroom. Whatever.

Chris nudges at her knees with his own as he undoes his pants, and she gets the hint, wiggling down her panties until she can lift one foot out of them, letting him spread her legs. He’s sweet, leaning down to grab them off the other ankle so they’re not resting on the bathroom floor, shoving them into his pocket instead.

Then she can feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against her and she let out a rough gasp.

“Just don’t get jizz on the dress!” she hisses. Another designer loaner because she wasn’t going to show up to Robert Downey Jr’s vow renewal whatever in one of her second hand store finds. And she’s not going through the humiliation of getting Captain America’s come out of a five thousand dollar dress, even if the process of getting it there is infinitely enjoyable. Her dry cleaner is a miracle worker, but she looks _really_ judgemental when Jenny _isn’t_ bringing in jizz-stained clothes.

“Fuck the dress,” he growls desperately, humping his hips into her ass hard enough that her hands skitter on the slick marble surface of the sink, looking for purchase. “I’ll buy you the dress.”

Her laugh turns into a guttural moan when he pushes into her with absolutely no preamble, filling her completely.

(He gets jizz on the dress. He buys her the dress.)

 

\--

 

Jenny looks at Sylvia’s registry online. “Chris?”

Chris is engrossed with his phone, tapping out what looks like an email or text message. He’s had his new phone for a couple weeks, but she can tell that he still misses the keyboard on his blackberry. He may be dexterous in bed, but he looks like he’s got sausages for fingers using the touchscreen to type. “Huh?”

“Should we get them the queen down comforter or the set of dessert plates?” Jenny’s lip curls. “Who the fuck needs _dessert plates_ shaped like pears?” Jenny lives minimally - always has - so the idea of multiple sets of plates has been bizarre to her. A plate is a fucking plate. Hers have little foxes running around the rim of them. She has ten of them and they’ve held everything from awesome pad thai to toaster strudels.

“What?”

“Chris, she’s _your_ friend. Which gift do you want to get them?” Jenny puts the down comforter into her online shopping cart even though it’s more expensive because fuck dessert plates. “I swear to fucking god, half my salary this year is going to wedding gifts. This is ridiculous.”

To her left, Chris’s phone keeps letting out the most annoyingly shrill noise over and over, chris grimacing as he types shit back. Chris tosses her his credit card and tells her to put it on his, which she does because technically she’s only known Sylvia for a couple weeks and voiceover work pays total shit.

Chris’s phone goes off again.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Jenny asks. “Also, congratulations, we bought Sylvia and Sam a down comforter.”

Chris raises an eyebrow as his phone pings loudly in his hand.

“Urm, I think Robert knows what we did in his bathroom,” Chris says solemnly.

“ _WHAT?”_ Jenny shrieks.

 

\--

 

Jenny is talking to another guest (some guy who blows glass for a living, which is _so fucking cool_ ) when Chris walks up with the bouquet in his hands, a shocked look on his face that lets her know Lyette made good on Jenny’s dare to basically whip the thing right at him instead of at the waiting pool of women under the staircase of the banquet hall.

“You’re going to make _such_ a beautiful bride,” Jenny cackles, letting out an affronted squeak when he tosses the flowers at her head.


End file.
